


The Brompton Ritual

by wizardlice



Category: Young Sherlock Holmes (1985)
Genre: Boarding School, Complete, Kid Sherlock, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, POV Sherlock Holmes, Rough Oral Sex, School Uniforms, Schoolboys, Shameless Smut, Sherlock-centric, Victorian, Victorian Sherlock Holmes, Virgin Sherlock, schoolboy sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5450480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wizardlice/pseuds/wizardlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Sherlock Holmes, freshly arrived at Brompton Academy, fails his first challenge from Dudley and is forced to obey his every command for a night. Non-con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brompton Ritual

“I won’t do it.”

The Captain of the rugby team grabbed him by his shoulders and forced him to his knees. Dudley gave him a tiny smile, lit by the warm light of the hearth behind him. Carefully dressed as always, his flax-coloured hair was neatly watered and combed, his collar clean and his shoes slightly pointed. Dudley stood primly on the hearth rug, looking down his long, aristocratic nose at the defeated boy.

“Ah, but Holmes, you made a promise you would do whatever penalty I commanded…surely you won’t go back on your word? Is that the _honorable_ thing to do?” He chided. His arms were crossed behind his back, as usual, giving him a preening appearance.

“What’s honorable about this?”

“Why, this is fulfilling a promise. A challenge between gentlemen. You swore you would do whatever I tell you to, tonight.” Dudley surveyed Holmes’s disheveled curls. He smiled again. He was all smiles tonight. Holmes shook his head.

“I was defeated, and I admit that fairly. But what you suggest is disgusting, and ungentlemanly, and I will not do it!”

“Won’t?”

Dudley took a threatening step forward, then stopped, as if a sudden plan had dawned to him.

“Crawl to me.”

“What- On my hands and knees?”

“Do it.”

Holmes stared at him for a second, but obeyed. He crawled slowly forwards on the thick carpet, reached the hearth rug, and stopped. But Dudley beckoned him closer. Holmes refused to move, sensing something. Dudley made a gesture to the darker-haired boy, and the Rugby Captain dragged him roughly the rest of the way forwards. Holmes barely had a moment to catch his breath before Dudley gripped the hair on the back of his head and pressed his face against the front of his trousers. Holmes could feel something hard press hotly through the fabric against his cheek. Gooseflesh prickled up his spine. This situation was rapidly progressing into something much darker, much more disturbing than a schoolboy challenge. Dudley rolled his hips against the young detective’s face, tilting his head back and sighing exaggeratedly. His entourage tittered from the shadowy armchairs on the sides of the room.

Tears of humiliation pricked in Holmes’s eyes. He whimpered, but Dudley’s grip was firm.

“Now…” purred his captor. “Undo the zip, with your teeth.”

Holmes swallowed what threatened to become a sob and lowered his head, nosing against the front of Dudley’s trousers. He managed to nuzzle the fold aside, but he couldn’t get the zipper between his front teeth. He tongued it desperately, feeling the rigid hardness behind it, looming. In just moments…the ultimate humiliation loomed ahead. The metal was warm and slippery with his spit. Dudley began to count down from ten. Holmes whimpered again and nipped frantically. Finally, the tiny ridge at the end caught in his teeth and he drew his head down, pulling the zip open.

“Ahh, well done, Holmes. I’m surprised…are you experienced at this? I should have known, with that long hair of yours...” Dudley taunted in an odd, low voice. Holmes glowered up at him, dark eyes burning with loathing. The paler boy smirked. He had full, coral-coloured lips that drew naturally into an elegant pout, scarcely seeming to move when he spoke. The carefull manners and hooded eyes, deceptively languid, were all deliberate characteristics of breeding. Everything, from his friends to his tone of voice, was meticulously construed.

 “Now…” Dudley studied his victim, a queer little smile still playing about his full lips. With one hand he played with the open zipper, the other’s fingers twisted roughly in Sherlock’s curls. “You know what to do.”

Sherlock glared insolently up at him, lip curled.

“No, I don’t.”

“Do it.”

“Do what?”

Dudley’s smile broadened. He leaned down until his lips just barely brushed Holmes’s ear.

“ _Suck my cock_.”

The words were soft, so soft, his captors breath tickling the loose curls that fell around his ears. Sherlock felt his stomach lurch. The words had been spoken. There was no pretending it wasn’t happening. He shook his head, unable to raise his eyes from the hearth rug. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Dudley stood, relaxing his grip on Sherlock’s hair. He nodded at his entourage, who slipped from the dormitory like eels, making no sound. They were alone now in the firelight, Holmes still kneeling, Dudley with his back to the hearth. The fair-haired boy thrust an arm behind his back, a habitual gesture when he spoke.

“Holmes…” The voice was gentle, causing his companion to look up. “Holmes, I’ve sent them out. We’re alone now. You should be grateful. It’s not commonplace to accommodate the losing party, especially someone as insufferable as you…” he broke off. Smiled.

“I will not do it.”

“You must. You swore. Maybe you’re not familiar with the rules here yet, as the new boy, but a challenge is a challenge, and you lost it. I know it seems indecent, but that’s how we play here at Brompton Academy. Holmes…Sherlock, was it? This is a tradition as old as any. Think of it as an exercise in humility and a lesson of your place. Perhaps next time you’ll think twice before boasting…” Dudley’s sweet lips turned up in a little smile again. “Perhaps next time, _you’ll_ win.”

 His cheer and calm unnerved Holmes. He was enjoying this. He was really going to make him do it, and he was looking forwards to it. This was more than schoolboy sport. This wasn’t just fulfilling a promise. Fury and disgust made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. Dudley was abusing his code of honor for his own disgusting, unnatural purposes.

Dudley ran a soft hand up Holmes’s throat until it rested beneath his chin.

“So come, you can accept your loss and perform your penalty, or…” the hand tightened on his jaw, squeezing.  “It can happen by force…” Holmes jerked his head away, grimacing, but inside his brains were churning. Accept, and create a humiliating bond between himself and this boy, or fight…and be beaten and forced to do it in front of the others…Broken hearted, he turned back to face Dudley and swallowed his pride. He cleared his throat of snot from tears that still threatened to spill over.

“Do…” his voice broke and he tried again. “Do you want to sit down or something?”

“Asking my preference! Why, you do sound professional, Holmes. Certainly, I’ll sit here.” Dudley arranged himself elegantly in the armchair in front of the fire. Holmes settled between his knees, his heart was beating so fast it ached. He couldn’t think where to begin. He unbuttoned the top clasp of the blonde’s trousers and pulled out his white collared shirt, exposing his slim, soft belly and the fair hair trailing down…His cheeks flushed. He’d seen other boys naked before, but never…aroused. Dudley wasn’t shy about himself, either. 

Sherlock racked his brains for instruction on how to do this. He had no idea, however, except the most basic grasp of the concept. He decided to just get it over with quickly. He leaned forwards and, after sucking in a quick breath, he hesitantly took the other boy’s cock into his mouth. It was hot against his lips and surprisingly heavy on his tongue. He spat it out, overwhelmed. Dudley did not give him even a moment to adjust to the foreign presence in his mouth, instead he immediately shoved himself cruelly deep down his throat, his hands held tightly against the back of Sherlock’s head, giving him no chance to move away. Sherlock couldn’t even gag, his throat was so full. He couldn’t breathe, either.The older boys cock felt huge and monstrous. He held him there, nose crushed against his belly, completely overwhelmed, until Sherlock thought he would black out for want of oxygen. At the very last moment Dudley pulled out and let the young detective gasp and retch at his feet. He still held his hair with an iron grip, his wet cock bobbing only a few inches before Holmes’s face.

“Well, Holmes.” He murmured, leering. “How does it feel to learn your place?”

“This isn’t my place.” Sherlock choked. His antagonist frowned.

“No? Well, you’re not finished learning, I suppose.”

Dudley pulled his head forwards with one hand, guided his hard cock back into the kneeling boys mouth with the other and began to thrust. The force of his movements made Sherlock drool. He couldn’t swallow, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t do anything but try not to gag as he was violated. His hands formed fists on the dark carpet, and he dug his nails into his palms to try to bring his mind away from the defilement that occupied his every sense. The aroma of Dudley’s excited sweat, the soap he used on himself, and something muskier. Wet choking sounds, his own strangled breath whistling through damp nostrils, Dudley’s deeper, faster breath above him. The fabric of their school uniforms rustling stiffly. His scalp burned as Dudley twisted his hair with each thrust inside his mouth, jerking his head forwards and back.

Long minutes passed. Dudley’s rhythm slowed and become more regular, and his hands began combing and stroking through the young detective’s curls, an almost tender gesture.  Dudley sighed with pleasure, and Sherlock felt his own member twitch. He was stunned. Just when he had thought he could bear it no longer, it got worse. How could his own body betray him, now, in this situation? He looked up at his tormentors face, and saw it was transformed from smugness to sweetness in pleasure. He moaned again, very lowly, and Sherlock’s cock completely stiffened and pressed against his own trouser front. He hoped Dudley would keep his eyes shut and not notice this further shame. He closed his eyes again and tried to distract himself. The nails that dug into his palm had cut the tender skin and he tried to focus on the burning there, and not the arousal that was already beginning to make him wonder. How willing he had been to accept the challenge, and how willing he had been to accept his defeat. And then how willingly he performed the forfeit. What of it was truly coerced? Sherlock had never been so completely confused and humiliated. Humbled.

These were all nearly foreign emotions to the pubescent sleuth. He had always been acknowledged by adults and his peers alike as a swiftly rising star. He was accustomed to applause, not punishment, not this mortal shame and fear. Was he actually learning from this debasement? Was he enjoying it?

Sherlock’s thoughts were interrupted when his rival made an odd noise and suddenly his mouth filled with hot bitter liquid. He felt the boy’s member pulsing, deep down the back of his throat, and the hand in his hair kept him still until it was done. He swallowed. He had no choice. It was finished. 

The challenge was over. Dudley’s eyes had opened and they regarded him with deep satisfaction, the lids even lower than usual, the pupils nearly black in the wavering firelight.  He patted Sherlock’s hair dismissively and released him to once again, retch on the hearth rug at his feet. The taste was repugnant. It tasted like defeat, an unforgettable humiliation. Dudley straightened his uniform and put himself away in a leisurely fashion, watching Sherlock spit into the fire and shake. He seemed unperturbed by his schoolmate's discomfort.

  
“Well done, Holmes.” He said, brushing his hair back from his lightly perspiring brow. His appearance was neat as before, only the flush on his pale features betraying what had just occurred.  “What an excellent penalty.”

“You are unnatural.” Sherlock spat again into the brazier and wiped his lips.

“Oh, spare it. The night isn’t over yet, you must realize. I could command you to do something more. Would you really dare provoke me with insults?” The pale boy smirked. “Besides, you enjoyed it.” His eyes lowered deliberately to Sherlock’s trousers, making him flush. He had seen.

“I didn't think so. Anyway, I am quite tired now. You’ve honored your word, Holmes. I’m pleased. I thought we would have to make you...Now I look forwards so much more to our next challenge.”

“You won’t win the next one.” Sherlock warned. He felt sick, but stood up anyway on shaking legs. Despite the near darkness of the room, he felt horribly exposed. He guessed he had made the right choice to do this alone, because he could not bear another set of eyes gazing at him so knowingly. He would get revenge. He would make this right, somehow. 

“I’m counting on it. Good-night, Holmes. Until the next time…”

Dudley clapped his hands and the others began to file in, looking curiously at them both with evaluating expressions. They all knew what had been done. But at least they hadn’t seen it. Sherlock hated being dismissed this way but he desperately wanted to leave, so without another word he turned around and walked out. When the doors shut behind him, he ran. And when he stopped running he was in his dormitory. He crawled into his bed with his clothes on, and did not sleep. In his mind, he still ran. 

**Author's Note:**

> When I first saw Young Sherlock Holmes, I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if Sherlock had failed during one of his challenges with Dudley. I also like to think this version of Sherlock is so honor-bound and naive, Dudley would have very little trouble forcing him into something dirty.  
> Please review, let me know if you liked it! :)


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